Post by pollyj on Feb 11, 2018 23:08:31 GMT

So. Another week, and I hope as many of you as can, will play, as we miss every one of you when you don't! But don't worry if life has taken over, as it does.

This week, we have a GUEST SETTER, the lovely TONI, who gave me this line a few weeks ago:

'Welcome to the Asylum.'And that is your title. You can make of it what you will. You could comment on politics (plenty of scope there) or almost any doings of human beings. Or maybe you have a serious point to make, or a literal point. It is, as ever, up to you.

Rules: Your task is to give us a poem with that title, otherwise it is completely open to you as to form or style, serious or funny, literal or not. No set orders this week. Over to you...

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General Rules: The week's subject will be posted on Sunday. Poets can then post until Thursday evening. Poems must not be already written, or from a longer previously written poem. They must be written off the cuff, to the subject/theme. Unless a particular form/length is specified there will be no restrictions on poetic form, or length.

Voting will take place from Friday morning until Sunday evening, when the week's winners will be announced along with the new subject.

Post by pollyj on Feb 13, 2018 1:30:10 GMT

Two old women with teeth like toothpicksspeaking in Russian and smiling in Sinhalese,

An obese eunuch swelling with self-satisfied gleeendlessly eating pastries beneath a Banyan treeuntil I want to scream at his sloppy munchingand the screeching of the monkeys in their high-vis vests;their nylon nets of fish and superstition.

When the women tell me I must touch every lamp post,each separate tile and go clockwise round any pillarto make sure that nobody dies

I try to pretend I suffer only from geniusand not some previous genetic buggeryof the mental kind.

I look around at those times of fragile mummery -then at the sane world in its flame red dressand I must confessthat next to me, it's you, with your full-metal-jacket,your massacre of the innocents and every one of yourclear, cold cruelties and pie and sympathieswho should be therewith the small, cruel women,the fat man and the monkeysin an eggshell at the bottomof the cold North SeaInstead of me.

Post by profbill43 on Feb 13, 2018 21:38:19 GMT

Strangely, it came out as a rather irregiular sonnet!

Welcome to the Asylum

Picture a monkey, a Hindu said, A crazed one, leaping from place to place,And not just crazed but drunk, having fedOn fermented fruit, smearing its faceAnd filling is belly with toxic pulp.This purposeless primate, cavorting about,Having poisoned itself with gulp after gulp,Is a metaphor. You may believe it or doubtThat it's somewhat germane to our usual state--The state of our minds, or at least of mine.I can't find a way to make it abate,But of this chaos I give no sign.Though outwardly calm, I'm insane through and through,And if you are honest, you know you are too.

Post by Toni on Feb 14, 2018 9:50:49 GMT

Home, Sweet Home

Lunacy and putrid patriotism areWildly rife within the wallsBuilt to hide xenophobiaBut not your home grown terroristsYou yellow bastards!Whispers, rumours and innuendoUnder the cover of golden smilesGolden showers and blackest mindsTrading on universal goodwill.Surreptitiously sabotagingRuining, ranting and wrecking.Quislings, traitors, turncoatsPlaying with alt-truth, Oh no, never lies, they claim, And always to their own advantageHolding the football of death.This asylum we call home.

Microcosm of the world in theLast millenium or this day, This last sorrowful, jagged yearKnowing history won't makeJustice or peace or goodwill.In every century so it seemsHatred, power stuggles andGreed lead to egotesticle bravado andGun-happy, bomb happy invasions.Each night we see the dead sprawled inCountries ravaged for their spoilsBlood, terror, pain, no end in sightAgain and again and againThis asylum we call home.

Hide your ill gotten spoilsIn tropical paradisesLet pollution thrive to appeaseYour gods – Coal and Oil -Bow down and make obeisanceTo the billionaire barons.What's another giraffe, or lion or bearPlenty more where they came from.Acid is good for you and anywayLots of dosh to be made fromBottled water, hey!Get back to the kitchen, barefoot.This asylum we call home.

Post by leelah on Feb 14, 2018 14:51:50 GMT

Leaving the Asylum

When I leave the Asylum of the World,let me remember to close the door behind me.Leave my straitjacket insideI know I would like to keep that oneas a great excuse for notdaring to blaze my own trailLet me not forget to close all doors and notlook back

Remember the therapist stays behind

I need to listen to myselfto hold to care to find out what I truly valueand what I do not

I will learn to speak with oaksand poppiesand the deep underground wormswho nourishes the soilI will get a big dog and a small catand teach them to live with each otherjust as I will learn to live with myselfInside that One Heartwe all share